The early morning sun cut through the remnants of the storm, its pale rays glinting off the wet earth. Yet, the brightness did little to lighten the heavy atmosphere that lingered in the cabin. Inside, Aura and Logan prepared in tense silence, the unspoken weight of the day ahead hanging between them like a shroud.
Aura stood in the small living room, her movements precise as she methodically packed a duffel bag. Every item—knives, a worn map, a small but heavy handgun—was chosen with care. Logan watched from the doorway, his arms crossed. His brow was furrowed in a mix of frustration and determination.
"You don't trust me," Logan said, breaking the silence.
Aura didn't look up. "It's not about trust. It's about experience."
"And I don't have any, right?" Logan's voice was sharper than he intended. "That's what you're saying."